Plotted starter for @yarkly with Marianne and Dom!
An arranged marriage had always been a potential for Marianne, but she never thought it would happen so soon. Though considering who it is, Marianne thinks she understands a little better why the rush on the marriage - and hopeful heirs that Marianne is anxious to even attempt. What if her own crest overrides the desired Faerghun crest? What if her curse is too much, to defining of her blood, and her own child is as unfortunate as she is? No, she doesn’t want to have children, wouldn’t get married if it weren’t being forced upon her.
The thought of running away had crossed her mind more than once, and yet as the day arrives that her suitor is to be arriving, the packing she has done is everything she will need for a new life in a new home, rather than a small bag of just the necessities to see her through until she reaches the next town over. She is resigned to this fate.
And yet, there is a modicum of hope here, as well. This is something of an escape, too, even if it’s into a marriage she has no say in. Maybe she can leave after she gets there, sneak out in the night and leave, never look back. Make a new life somewhere else where no one knows who she is. Perhaps even pass into the Adrestian Empire and seek safety there. The idea makes her giddy - even as it deflates her. Of course she won’t try to escape and force herself onto others; it’s bad enough her suitor - husband - will have to be subject to her presence.
Again she is wrought with tears, collapsing not for the first time on her now stripped bed and burying her face in her hands. It won’t do to be seen like this when he arrives, so she gets it all out now, lets her heart hurt, her chest ache, her mouth hurt with unbridled sobs that no one checks in on. She has cried enough the last few days, they know she is near inconsolable until she can work herself out of it. Childish, selfish, petulant Marianne, she thinks harshly, and that seems enough to at least force the tide to stem and for her to catch her breath. Deep inhale, hold it, slow exhale, until she is once against composed.
It takes another half an hour of splashing water on her face, breathing carefully, fanning herself, until she looks presentable again. With straight shoulders but head bowed slightly, she leaves her room to wait downstairs, housemaids coming in to help take her things downstairs behind her. Soon, she will not be here any longer, and that, at least, is something new.
